


Waiting for the World to Fall

by Khetienn



Category: Original Work
Genre: Apocalypse, Bible, F/M, Gen, God is Dead, Nobody really knows anything, We're all just doing our best ok?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:35:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22219405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khetienn/pseuds/Khetienn
Summary: What happens when God is dead, but you still have a planet full of humans waiting for the End of Days? Welcome to SombraCorp, bringing you your regularly scheduled Apocalypse. Katriel is Director of Human Resources, and planning the end of the world doesn't always run smoothly...





	1. immortal fear

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my silly little project. This started as part of a larger thing but I honestly don't have the time or energy to update it as often as it deserves, and I hate to see it die, so it gets to live here. It started out as the idea of having to find players for the Apocalypse, and flowed naturally into, well, what's it actually like to be HR of the Apocalypse? 
> 
> (I work in Human Resources, and I can tell you that sometimes it's not that different.) 
> 
> Each chapter was inspired by a song; there's a link to the specific version of that song at the end.
> 
> Updated as and when I feel like it, chapters are short and not necessarily related (and may be expanded/tweaked at times) although there'll be a bit of a narrative arc emerging. After that? Who knows?

It was just like God, to go and die and leave us with all the dirty work.

  
The Almighty might no longer be around, but His Word was, and what kind of religion would we be if we failed to deliver on the prophecies contained therein? I sat contemplatively sipping my coffee as I reviewed resumes, marking comments in red pen. The bureaucracy of Heaven translated extremely well into running a business on Earth; God's death had hardly caused a blip in my existence. The only difference now was instead of sorting souls in Heaven I was Director of HR for SombraCorp, bringing you your regularly scheduled Apocalypse. The pharmaceutical research was only a front -- our real job was making sure the End Times went off without a hitch. Our only saving grace was that 'no one knows the day or the hour' bit. Otherwise we'd likely be on an even tighter schedule, and I was already struggling to find qualified talent. 

  
"Absolutely no experience. This one hasn't stayed at a job more than three months at a time. Hm, you look promising... although you want HOW MUCH? Sorry, market wage is half that."

  
I sat back, hand to my forehead, careful not to disturb my hair, and began to seriously consider the prospect of hiring some half-demons to fill in the gaps. Inscribing a note in meticulously perfect handwriting into my leather day planner to bring it up at the executive meeting today, I glanced at my watch. Before I could think about the details of that plan, I had an appointment to deal with.

  
I composed myself, brushing my hands over the knife-sharp creases of my grey suit. The employee file was already on my desk; I didn't need to review it, but I glanced through it anyway. Exactly on time, a knock sounded at the door.

  
"Come in." I looked over the tops of my reading glasses at the man who stepped into my office. "Thanks for coming. Please close the door behind you. Have a seat." Nervously he lowered himself into a chair. I leaned forward on my desk, steepling my fingers over his file, and gave it a moment. "You're aware of the incident last week in which you allowed humans to witness an angelic miracle."

  
He nodded silently. They always did, most of them.

  
"The purpose of this meeting is to let you know that we've completed our investigation and I've found that you were at fault. We're going to have to impose some formal discipline."

  
His face went pale and he stood quickly, knocking the chair over. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by it. It won't happen again, I swear!"

  
Blood and ichor sprayed, spattering the walls and furniture in thick, oozing crimson. The only sound in the room was of dripping liquid. "No," I smiled, licking my fingers. They were the only soiled part of me. "It won't."

  
Reaching for the telephone I dialed my assistant, placing her on speakerphone rather than pick up the filthy handset. "I'm about to head into a meeting. Cancel my 1pm if it goes late. Oh, and I've just terminated Hazakiel. Send a cleanup crew to my office."

* * *

Chapter inspiration:

"Cry Little Sister" as covered by The Anix

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D5FHe5Uq6IQ


	2. it's the end of the world as we know it

As far as humans know, SombraCorp is a pharmaceutical company specializing in rare illnesses. And it is, to some extent. After all, funding the Apocalypse takes money. Leading roles like Horsemen aren't going to work for free. If God had candidates in mind, well, He didn't leave a list behind, and so it's up to us to make the choice. The _right_ choice, because you can't exactly have a dress rehearsal for the Apocalypse.

So while we hire human medical researchers and biochemists, and they really do make drugs and save lives, they have no idea what's really going on behind the scenes, in the shadows.

When we realized that God was dead, really dead, and no miracle was forthcoming, it threw Heaven into chaos. The dust eventually settled, but the throne remains empty. There are powers and principalities that would love to sit there, if they can survive their competitors long enough. That's not really our concern.

We intend to fulfill God's Word, regardless of who or what thinks they can step into those very, very large shoes.

The pay is good, because long-term, money isn't going to mean much to anyone. There are also certain perks that come with turning a blind eye to most vices. If 99 percent of humans are going to perish in a fiery hellstorm, it doesn't much matter what happens to them right now. As long as you fulfill your duties, we don't care what happens in your off time. We're non-discriminatory; we do hire demons, occasionally, if they're the right fit for the role. You don't necessarily need a lot of qualifications or experience. There's always a need for foot soldiers and admin positions. As a matter of fact, a position just opened up. We do offer full health benefits, paid vacation, and a generous stock option package.

Afterward? Well. There might not be much need for harbingers of death and destruction, but someone's got to run this pearly city and this lake of fire and torment. We'll be doing performance reviews afterward and assuming you stay on, we'll assign you out based on your strengths. If someone does eventually ascend to the heavenly throne, assuming they manage to stay there, we'll have already done most of the work for them. The infrastructure will be in place, and it's always harder to change the status quo. 

My name is Katriel. No, I'm not a major role; I handle the personnel side of things. You really didn't think we wouldn't need extensive coordination on this? Honestly, I think we might have more management at this point than players. Still, that's not always a bad thing. We've really streamlined the process from Heaven and it's much more efficient this way. Our Apocalypse should run smoothly; we're here to ensure it. I've reviewed your background and you show a lot of promise. There's a place for you on our team, if you want it.

Think about it for a little while. I'll take your resume and references. Someone will give you a call if you're chosen for an interview.

* * *

Chapter inspiration:

"It's the End of the World" by R.E.M.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z0GFRcFm-aY


	3. i tried to be salvation; i tried to make a change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains (non-explicit) F/M sex, as a warning for those of you who are not into such things.

It's been a long day.

I enter my dark apartment, tossing my keys on the side table and hanging my purse and jacket. Mimi mews at my feet, twining between my ankles. Odd that I take more pity on a mere feline, lost, wet and shivering, than I do the entirety of the human race. Shrugging philosophically, I take a can of food out of the cupboard. Air hisses as the can opener punctures the metal and Mimi's vocalizations turn kittenish, chirping for attention as though afraid I'll forget about her.

Wrinkling my nose at the smell, I dump the cat food on a saucer and bend to place it on the floor. My small black ball of fur rushes to the dish and begins to gulp it down as though she will never see another meal. I retrieve my phone and send a text message; oh, I'm in a mood tonight. After a moment it buzzes in response. I smile tightly and retrieve a bottle of wine from the fridge and a sparkling glass, thin as air, from the hanging rack.

Fragrant bubbles form in the running water in the bathtub as I strip leisurely, letting my clothes fall where they may. The ruby color of the wine in its glass glows in the candlelight. One thing about this human form, it allows one to experience the sensual pleasures which otherwise might be beneath notice. I sink beneath the hot water. Steam and the scent of rose and deep resin rise around me. The wine is bitter on my tongue and I relish each sip.

I could stay in there forever, but time runs short. Sighing heavily, I rise from the suds like pagan Aphrodite from the waves, water and soap running from my curves. I don't bother to rinse, just towel off, and dress in a short nightie, some scrap of black silk and lace that reaches to mere mid-thigh.

I'm on my second bottle by the time the knock sounds at the door, no longer bothering with the glass but drinking directly from the cold, heavy vessel. My head is buzzing pleasantly and the world feels lighter. Unlatching the security chain, which is mostly for show, and unlocking the door, I haven't bothered to check who it is. I can feel his presence.

“Damien,” I smile, drawing him into my arms as he shuts the door behind him. It's likely not his real name, more probably someone's sick sense of humor, whether his own or someone else's, but that isn't important. We don't pry into each others' secrets. Our fragile truce is good enough. Working professionally with demons is one thing, but fraternization – that would lead to consequences. So we don't kiss and tell, and we don't ask into heavy subjects.

“Kat,” he murmurs as he lets me pull him close. He must have showered as well, because a clean scent of spicy vanilla accompanies him. Mimi hisses and flees; we ignore her. “You're a bit drunk, looks like. Started the party without me, have we?” His Australian accent is playfully mocking. In response I tip the bottle up, pouring dark liquid down through the air to his lips, upturned to receive it.

“This cup is the new covenant in my blood,” I respond, a husky slur making its way into my voice. He licks beads of wine from the corner of his mouth, from the edge of his dark beard, and laughs. I grab his hand, sliding it up my bare thigh. “This is my body,” I whisper in his ear, “which is given for you.” His laugh turns to a low growl and he slips his fingers higher, making me gasp. Damien gently pries the bottle from my hand and sets it on the counter as his long, clever fingers continue to move. I allow myself a moment to writhe into him before pulling him away by the wrist just long enough to lead him to the bedroom.

He doesn't stay, after, and I don't ask. Instead I lie tangled in the sheets, a cold breeze shifting in through the half-open window and blowing the sheer curtains. Moonlight, streetlights, and the lit ember of my cigarette are the only illumination. I suck a deep lungful of smoke and watch it blow away into the wind as I exhale. Mimi jumps up onto the bed, finally brave enough to venture out from her hidey-hole after the demon is safely gone. I pet her absentmindedly with my free hand. I'm coming down from my buzz, and despite the post-orgasmic afterglow I feel hollow, the wine sour in my stomach.

I realize I haven't eaten dinner and make a half-hearted move toward getting up to find one of the menus stuck to my fridge, Chinese or something. The impulse ends before it's hardly begun, and I slump back onto the pillows. It's not like I need to eat, the only thing I'll be losing is some extra energy, and so I don't bother.

Dirty light makes shifting patterns on the covers and on my skin as the curtains blow, and I wonder how it came to this. The sense of purpose that inhabits me during the day seems to have fled with the sun and the only thing remaining is a long, dark night.

I stub out my cigarette into the ashtray on the bedside table and curl quietly around my cat, a small living scrap of warmth in the cold darkness.

* * *

Chapter inspiration:

"Bad Intentions" by Digital Daggers

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hYiKEdcoMDQ>


	4. we've got a war to fight

It's always a little awkward being called into a surprise meeting when your boss has the capability to instantly turn you into a fine red mist.

  
I straightened the lapels of my blazer and strode into the office. Raziel's assistant glanced up from her keyboard. "He's expecting you, go right in." Out of deference I tapped on the solid wooden door. An affirmative summons came from within. 

  
My heels sank into the thick carpet as I entered the room. Raziel was gazing over his spectacles at a stapled sheaf of paper. "Ah, Katriel, excellent. Do have a seat."

  
I seated myself in one of the pair of leather chairs that faced his mahogany desk and laced my fingers in my lap, waiting. Raziel took a moment to finish reviewing the paper in his hand, and then slipped it back inside a manila folder. He slid the folder across the desk to me with the soft susurration of paper on paper. 

  
"Sir?" I questioned, making no move to pick it up.

  
He nodded down at it. "We've discovered a likely candidate for one of our leading roles. Go ahead, take a look."

  
I drew the packet toward me and flipped the cover open, baring the first page of a dossier. A photo of a dark-skinned man in an elaborate, war-like skeletal mask and headdress stared piercingly up at me.

"A little flashy," I mused. 

  
"A bit of theater is never a bad thing, my dear," Raziel admonished. "And I think you'll find that his accomplishments speak for themselves."

  
I skimmed through the stack, assimilating information much faster than any human could manage. "Iraq, Nanking, Flanders, Dunbar..." I skipped ahead and raised an eyebrow. "...Jericho?"

  
"You can see why we're eager to have him on our team." Raziel leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers underneath his chin. "That's why I want you to handle the recruiting, personally."

  
My control almost slipped. "Sir... with all due respect... you're not serious. A field assignment? Me?"

  
"You are our best, Katriel, and I want him. Your flight has already been booked. I expect nothing less than the stellar results you're known for. If not, I shall be-" his pale, watery eyes narrowed -- "disappointed."  
  
Sixteen hours later, I was on a plane -- business class, at least -- headed to some Godforsaken war-torn Middle Eastern country where our target, going by the unlikely alias of Abbadon, had last been seen. As far as anyone else was concerned I was Kate Jefferson, Director of HR for SombraCorp, in the country for a meeting to set up an international work study program with the company.

  
I let my head fall back against the headrest and closed my eyes, feeling the vibrations of the plane's engines in my skull. Such a clumsy way to fly. It made my skin itch, relying on this machine to keep me aloft. 

  
Customs was relatively painless, and soon I was emerging from the sterile, air-conditioned womb of the airport out into the blazing heat and light. Squinting, shading my eyes with one hand while pulling my carry-on behind me with the other, I hailed a cab. Tonight I would sleep in comfort in an upscale hotel room.

  
Tomorrow, I would hunt down this Abbadon on his own territory.

* * *

Chapter inspiration: 

"Roads" by Portishead

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7nxWP9BhI7w


End file.
